


like fire on me

by peredhils



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Grand Prix Final, and telling each other about it for the first time, victor and yuri being in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 09:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9117391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peredhils/pseuds/peredhils
Summary: “Tell me,” Victor says, grip on Yuri’s hips tightening, “how long have you wanted this?”





	

**Author's Note:**

> for alyx and kira. i have never written nsfw before and i CLEARLY do not know what i'm doing. i'm gagged as hell. so keep that in mind maybe someday i'll write porn that doesn't like, suck ass.

“Tell me,” he says, grip on Yuri’s hips tightening, “how long have you wanted this?” Victor’s lips move over Yuri’s neck, mouthing at his jaw all soft and gentle, sending heat down his body in waves. It feels as if he’s in a fever dream and that maybe, this isn’t real. Maybe he’s just dreaming like every other time he closes his eyes and feels Victor’s phantom hands travel over him. But then Victor’s hands dig in hard enough to pull a moan deep from Yuri’s chest and his heartbeat quickens. Suddenly, everything feels incredibly, miraculously real. He feels the press of Victor along his front, heavy and _real_. Feels the cold wall of the hotel room against his back, Victor’s breath in his ear. 

Victor bites down on his neck and pushes his leg between Yuri’s thighs, licking over his skin as Yuri gives broken gasps in place of an answer. “Tell me, Yuri,” he demands as his hand leaves Yuri’s hips and tangles in his hair, pulling his head back to hit against the wall. He bites his lip to stop from moaning, from saying something he probably shouldn’t like _I love you, you silver haired idiot_ —from losing his fucking mind. His heart won’t stop stuttering and he knows Victor can feel it pounding against his chest. 

If he were to be honest, he’s wanted this for far too long. He doesn’t want to say, _since the first time I saw you_ so he pushes forward and kisses Victor, forgetting from their last kiss that one time on the ice how flushed the softness of Victor’s lips on his made him feel. Forgets the way his knees trembled as Victor cradled his head against the ice, forgets how his entire body sparked like a god damn live wire with years of need from that one, quick kiss. It all comes rushing back as his legs shake and he’s panting against Victor’s mouth, hardly kissing now but rather whimpering into him, using the wall as support so he doesn’t crumble to the floor.

He can’t hold himself up anymore without the labored shaking of it showing all over his body, so Victor laughs into him, deep and hot as he pulls back, grabbing Yuri by the hands and walking backwards to the bed. Victor keeps his eyes on Yuri as his knees hit the back of the bed and he pleads, “How long, Yuri?”

The memories of himself, red-faced and young, imagining a scene like this over and over while he was by himself in the dark make him flush down to his chest. Victor’s sitting on the edge of the bed with Yuri between his open legs, rubbing circles into Yuri’s sides and in the press of his hands, Yuri feels safe. Years of wanting, of wishing that Victor would be his, needing to have Victor take him apart in the most intimate ways take over him and he leans into him, crowding Victor until he’s nearly on top of him over the covers. Something in the pit of his stomach heats up and it spreads through his veins and all over his skin. His hands shake as he pushes Victor’s chest down, easing him until he’s flat on the mattress. “Why do you want to know,” he whispers, crawling onto the bed on his knees, “ _Victor?_ ”

Up close, he can see Victor’s eyes widen with the way Yuri lets his name slip off his tongue, accent dripping over the syllables. He realizes that Victor looks just as wrecked as Yuri feels, with his hands tangling up into Yuri’s hair again, pulling him close and writhing into him. “Yuri,” he nearly cries, grinding up to find friction in their far-away hips, “I need to know.” Yuri keeps his hips just high enough off the bed that Victor’s rutting up into nothing, blushing as he moves farther up the bed with each keening arch. Deep satisfaction blooms inside him—knowing that he can make Victor whine and squirm like this, like how he’s always wanted—feels insanely fucking good. And it’s not just that. There’s a kindness in the way Victor moves, something unsaid in him, too. Unsure, he cups Victor’s face, taking in the way Victor looks completely enraptured, and that’s—that’s—

His chest constricts, and he remembers every moment he spent aching, lovesick; watching from the sidelines as Victor stole his heart without ever knowing he existed. All the times he spent with only his own hands to ease the burn of the helpless love he had stumbled into. Yuri had always wanted Victor. Always. 

But the part inside of him he never knew he had thrums from the depths of his conscious and he relents, pushing his hips down into Victor’s and the most primal satisfaction he’s ever felt washes over him as Victor screams at the contact. The bed creaks as Yuri pushes down and moves against him slow and hard. Again, his heart stutters as Victor’s mouth falls open and he breathes Yuri’s name, desperate. “I wonder,” Yuri hums, leaning down to press his lips to Victor’s ear. “I wonder if you can make me tell you.” 

Victor’s breath hitches as what he’s said settles in. He stops moving, chest heaving. There’s a moment where everything stills and all Yuri can hear is both of their heartbeats pounding in the cold Barcelona hotel room. Victor stares at him, so open and fucking beautiful, and all the times Yuri’s came silently chanting his name threatens to spill out of him—he _wants_ Victor to know now—needs him to know how long he’s had Yuri’s heart. 

Before he gets the chance to air the truth out, Victor slams his foot on the bed, using his knee to push up and flip Yuri over onto his back, hard. His breath leaves his lungs and Victor slides their hips back together, nearly crying out when Victor’s dick rubs against his, straining against his pants. 

“That’s a dangerous thing to say,” Victor warns. Yuri’s so caught up in the feel of Victor rolling down on him that he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Doesn’t know how to breathe, how to even move. “I’ll make you scream it, Yuri.” Victor licks back into his mouth and braces one hand above Yuri’s head, uses his other to reach under his shirt, fingers roaming up to scrape over Yuri’s nipple. Yuri gasps around Victor’s lips, his hands clenching in the sheets. 

They say patience is a virtue but right now, Yuri couldn’t give a shit about any of that. “Please,” he begs, “Victor, _fuck_ , please—“

The rest of whatever Yuri was going to say is lost when Victor cups him through his pants. “I haven’t even gotten started and you’re already begging,” he chides, running his hands along the length. He presses a quick kiss to Yuri’s parted lips and moves downwards, pulling his shirt out of the way as he kisses under his collarbones. Yuri’s blood rushes in all different directions—blooming on his cheeks, heating the tips of his ears, following the press of Victor biting down his chest—even down to his cock, which he was sure couldn’t get any harder. He’s a little overwhelmed. None of the endless times he’d dreamed of this could compare to how it lit him up inside whenever Victor so much as ran a finger across his skin, sweat slicked and so warm. And Victor was doing much more than that now. He takes one of Yuri’s nipples into his mouth, using teeth and tongue to pull unbidden sounds from the lowest parts of Yuri. Shaking, Yuri’s hands thread into Victor’s hair, holding on as Victor continues to leave hot kisses down his chest, blowing on them as he moves on. 

“V-Victor,” Yuri starts, but again, he’s stunned into letting out something resembling a roughened plea when Victor pulls his pants and boxers down past his ass. The cool air hits the hottest parts of him with force hard enough to sting, and he’s about to beg for some kind of warmth when Victor licks the head of his cock. 

He watches, open mouthed and quick-hearted, as Victor licks his own palm from base to the tip of his middle finger and wraps his hand around Yuri’s length. Every word Yuri’s ever known, every thought he’s ever had—is drowned by _Victor, Victor, Victor_ as he starts to slowly move his hand along Yuri’s cock. 

“You ready to tell me now?” He can hear the smirk in Victor’s voice, _fuck him_ , but he can’t find his own voice to respond. His heart’s hammering too fast, his skin is on fucking fire, and he can’t focus on anything but Victor’s hand on him, the sound of Victor’s voice. He knows when Victor eventually pulls every truth out of him he’ll know—he’ll know Yuri’s loved him for most of his life, but right now, he’s thankful he’s managed to keep the important things quiet. 

Instead of longing confessions, a wild part of him says, “You have to do better than _that_ ,” and he’s shocked at himself for saying it, but he lets it hang in the air between them. Victor only laughs again, light and easy like the wind over the ocean, and takes Yuri completely into his mouth, no hesitation. He feels himself hit the back of Victor’s throat, and _shit_ , if that isn’t the hottest thing Yuri’s ever felt in his life. Victor hums around him, licking and sucking agonizingly slow, breathing in when his nose presses against the hair at the base of his cock. His hands slide up underneath Yuri’s body, holding him closer than he thought they could be like this, pushing his hips up and kneading the flesh. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes from how good it feels, from how long he’s wanted Victor. Victor keeps moving, and the sounds of his lips moving over Yuri’s cock is enough to send heat coursing through him from his toes to his fingertips. Yuri shakes with Victor’s movements, up and down, slow, so slow, and so tender. 

Victor needs to stop. Right now. Or else Yuri is going to come, quiet and a bit too in-love, and he doesn’t want that to be the way this goes. He wants—he wants—

“How about I tell _you_ something, Yuri,” Victor muses, lips ghosting over Yuri’s spit-slicked cock. He kisses down the shaft and leaves open mouthed kisses over his balls while Yuri writhes, biting on his hand to keep himself in check. 

“What’s that?” 

With one hand, Victor reaches up and guides Yuri’s head down to look at him. He makes him watch as Victor sucks two of his own fingers into his mouth, coating them as he stares at Yuri with a look hotter than heat, deeper than lust. 

“Well, Yuri,” he all but moans, taking his fingers from his mouth and pushing his own pants off, kicking them onto the floor, “From the first moment I saw you—“ 

Yuri watches as Victor sits back on his legs and takes his own hand and reaches behind himself, wincing as he works inside, starting, incredulously, with both of his fingers. It’s—it’s insane, and Yuri can’t catch his breath, for what’s probably the ninth or so time tonight. Victor’s cock is, well, just as amazing as the rest of him. It curves up against his belly, heavy and leaking. And it’s hard. For him.

“At the banquet, a year ago. I loved you then, you know,” Victor sighs out, pushing down on his own fingers, eyes wide open and trained on Yuri, reading whatever dumbstruck expression Yuri’s convinced he’s wearing. 

Everything grinds to a halt, the words repeating jarringly through his mind. _A year ago…I loved you then._ In his disbelief, he almost doesn’t catch the next part, “And I’ve loved you since.” 

He’s lightheaded, he’s sweating—he can’t think. Presses his hand to his forehead, touches Victor’s quivering thighs. Voice breaking, he asks, “W-what?” 

“Since you danced with me last year, after the Grand Prix. I’ve loved you for so long, Yuri. I’ve wanted to do this,” he grinds down farther on his fingers, trembling with the effort, “for ages.” 

It’s—there’s— _shit_. Yuri moves his touch-starved fingers to Victor’s chest, roams all over the taut muscle. He can’t believe how every bit of Victor is stunningly breathtaking, absolutely wonderful. This man that he’s adored is hard above him, panting, fingering himself with Yuri’s own name pouring from his lips, and he loves him. Victor loves him. His heart swells, and swells, and that’s the best thing he’s heard in all of his years. 

He opens his mouth to admit it all, to tell Victor, _I’ve loved you too, forever_ , but Victor clamps his other hand onto Yuri’s mouth. “Don’t say anything yet,” he says, leaning down close enough that Yuri thinks he sees the seagulls over St. Petersburg in his eyes. “When I’m shaking around your cock,” Yuri moans as the words leave Victor’s mouth, “that’s when you can tell me.” 

Slightly, he nods, nearly too sick with love to move. Taking all the warmth in the room with him, Victor reaches back over to his pants and pulls out a bottle that makes Yuri’s cock twitch against his stomach. This should have crossed his mind earlier, maybe before they came back to the room, still buzzing from dancing and celebrating and silver medals and no alcohol, this time. He should have realized the moment Victor laid his hand on Yuri’s arm, lightly but with intent that made Yuri’s toes curl, that this is his first time. And it’s Victor, it’s Victor, it’s Victor. He’s sure Victor knows—the way Yuri’s mouth moved on his or the way Yuri would sometimes pause before leaning into a touch—he knows this is new for him. He feels nervous, embarrassed, for a fleeting moment. But then Victor is spreading only faintly warmed up liquid over his cock and suddenly it’s okay, Victor loves him, and he’s guiding his cock behind him. 

“But—you hardly,” Yuri protests. Victor gives him this _look_ , this unreal, easy smile. 

“My body,” Victor whispers as he places a hand on Yuri’s chest, rubbing Yuri’s cock against his entrance, “is yours.” As Yuri feels himself open Victor up, Victor continues, “Yours, Yuri.” 

Labored breaths and gasps like prayers fill Yuri’s ears and there’s no other sound he wants to hear. He wants to be drowned in the sounds Victor makes as he inches down on Yuri, taking all of him in, letting him stretch him open. Yuri throws his head back when he feels Victor’s ass rest on his balls, all of him surrounded in a burning heat that he wants—well, wants to die in. Thinks, if this was it, his last day on earth, that would be okay. He wouldn’t mind at all. 

Victor’s eyes are closed but he’s smiling, it’s the same smile he had when he won all his gold medals. Yuri’s memorized that smile—stared at it long enough to know. “God,” he groans, “you are fucking _gorgeous_.” He pushes his hips up into Victor; anything, for that smile. 

After what seems like just this side of too long, Victor moves. 

Yuri can’t help the moan that rips from his throat; a guttural and desperate thing. He won’t last long at all—not with the way Victor’s mouth had wrapped around him, not with knowing Victor loves him, not with his cock buried so deep in his ass it feels as if they’re one person, not two—

Victor arches his back and Yuri’s entire mind goes blank. Please god, let this be the last thing he sees. He wants the image of Victor raising himself up, his cock spreading him open, to be the last god damned thing he sees. Then Victor is slamming down, all sense of caring thrown out the window, and Yuri’s eyes water with the beauty of it all. 

He’s not sure who says what at this point. Things spill out of both of them in languages neither understands, but Yuri intertwines their fingers together and their rings press against each other, and they both understand. 

“Please Yuri,” Victor says between whines and mantras of _yes, yes да, please_ , “tell me now.” 

It’s hard. He’s almost lost in the way Victor lifts and screams as he finds _that spot_ and starts to lose his control, nearly crying while he recklessly grinds down on his cock. But when Victor keens, letting out a high pitched and needing cry, he scrabbles to tell him, finally. 

“ _Always,_ ” he screams, then, quieter—like a long held secret, which he guesses, it is, “always, Victor.” 

And that. That does it. 

Victor pulls him up until he’s in his lap, and they’re moving together with no coordination, no rhythm. They’re just holding on to each other and Yuri can feel their hearts, raging against their chests as if they’re trying to break out and be with the other—

It won’t do to come like a hopeless man, much _too_ in love, shaking and clinging to Victor with no other words but his name filling the space between them, but that’s how it goes, and Victor. Victor is kissing him, their tongues, their lips, their whole hearts pressing together while Yuri comes deep inside of him. Yuri feels Victor tighten around him, the sensation coming in waves as Victor paints his chest with his come. 

Things fall quiet as Yuri collapses backwards, pulling Victor on top of him. Yuri rubs Victor’s back, not caring at all about the come between them, the come leaking out of Victor—none of it. All he cares about is the way Victor leans his forehead against his, the way he smiles so close to Yuri, the way their rings feel cool against their hot skin, the way they love each other—always have. The way he says, 

“ _наконец-тo._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> наконец-тo means finally! at least that's what google tells me. title from my main man, justinas marcinkevicius, "two poems".


End file.
